


Frozen Crystalline Water

by LacrimaDraconis



Series: Unconnected Holiday Fics [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Stiles really hates snow, as usual there's a little bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacrimaDraconis/pseuds/LacrimaDraconis
Summary: Or five times Stiles really hates snow and one time it isn't so bad.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There's a scene where Stiles' mom is already sick, but it's nothing graphic and also quite short. More of a sweet moment between mother and child, but it's best to scroll over part no. 2 though if it might upset you. Be kind to yourself.

1).

Stiles is five years old and he hates the snow. _Hates_ it. His mommy had promised he could go to spend the afternoon with Scott - his new best friend forever who is amazing – and now he cannot go because the stupid snow is everywhere.

They had it all planned out during recess in kindergarten. Stiles would come over to Scott and he would bring his favorite Batman toys, they would play with Scott’s Hot Wheel cars and Scott had said his mom would make them hot cocoa with marshmallows. Stiles had been so excited because Scott was awesome and funny and nice and he didn’t mind that Stiles sometimes couldn’t concentrate on one thing that well.

And now, now there is snow _everywhere_ and Stiles’ dad had come with his police cruiser to pick him up early from kindergarten. Instead of spending an entire afternoon playing and romping around he is scooped up in his house, miserably so, and stares out into the snow flurry through the dining room window. At least he has hot cocoa with a ton of marshmallows on top because his mom is even more awesome than Scott.

 

2).

Stiles is ten years old and though there hasn’t been snow in Beacon Hills for a few years, he clearly remembers why he doesn’t like it. It’s cold and wet outside and really, he doesn’t get the excitement of many of his classmates. Yes, building snow men and sledding down the hills sounds fun _technically_ , but these days, Stiles prefers to huddle up against his mom in his parents’ bed and read the newest comics. He has developed a soft spot for Wolverine lately. Sometimes he goes and grabs his favorite childhood books, like the Narnia chronicles or The Hobbit and reads to his mom, loving the smile it puts on her face before she drifts off to morphine induced sleep again. Stiles hopes spring will be there soon, so she might be able to sit outside in the back yard with him, watching the flowers bloom for a last time.

When his mom has to be taken to the hospital for the rest of her days only a week later, it’s still cold and wet outside. It makes Stiles hate the snow even more.

 

3).

Stiles is fourteen and he still hates snow. There’s only one thing he can think of hating even more, and that is Jackson Whittemore. Jackson is Stiles’ lacrosse team captain, the boyfriend of the love of Stiles’ life – Lydia Martin – and he’s also his arch nemesis.

Stiles knows he isn’t always on his best behavior towards Jackson, but really, why should he be? Jackson is a douchebag, bullies him any chance he gets and Lydia deserves so much better. Stiles would be much better than him, but so far she doesn’t seem to realize that. She does look adorable though, in her woolen hat and a thick scarf cheering on Jackson from the stands even though this is just practice. It makes Stiles grit his teeth and sweep in from the sideline trying to show his finesse in the sport and maybe make her at least see him for once.

The only thing it achieves is landing Stiles in a huge heap of snow as Jackson pushes him into it for “destroying his training tactics”.

He hates the snow.

 

4).

Stiles is sixteen years old and his life has changed a lot over the last few months. Scott is a werewolf, Jackson is a kanima turned werewolf, Lydia is somehow his friend, and occasionally dead people don’t stay dead. Considering these circumstances you’d think a little snow would only pose a minor inconvenience. But the thing is, Stiles is currently driving good old Roscoe through what appears to soon becoming a full-on snow storm. That alone would probably be manageable, he’s a sheriff’s kid and knows how to drive in these conditions, but unfortunately Derek Hale is slowly bleeding out on his passenger seat once more.

It’s a little sad that Stiles has to realize this is a far more regular occurrence in his life than he’d like to admit.

“Okay, what’s it this time, big guy? Wolfsbane again? ‘Cause you’re not healing that wound quick enough.”

Derek surprisingly wants to answer, but only coughs up a gurgling sound instead and presses his hand over the gash in his side even harder. He draws in a deep, rattling breath that makes Stiles wince in sympathy, before he finally manages words. “Mistletoe. I can’t get the things out. Drive faster.”

“Dude, does mistletoe inflict blindness on werewolves? Can’t you see the snow storm outside? It won’t help if both of us end up dying because I land the car in the ditch.”

“As if you care about me dying,” Derek hisses throwing Stiles a glare.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Stiles bites back, “because that’s why I’m driving you to Deaton’s through this shit piece of storm after you showed up on my porch. Instead of like, telling you ‘Nah’, shutting the door in your way too pretty face and going back to my Star Wars marathon.”

There’s no answer. When Stiles risks a glance to the side, he sees Derek’s head has lolled to the side and he passed out, his face now an alarmingly pale color.

“Yo, Derek. You still with me?” Stiles reaches over and carefully shakes Derek’s shoulder. The werewolf doesn’t even stir. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Stiles mutters, than slowly stops the jeep. Turning on the emergency flasher he seriously hopes no car passes by, least of all one of his dad’s patrol cars.

He runs around the car and rips open the passenger side, pressing Derek’s body upright again when he slumps against the seatbelt. Good thing he had glared at Derek until he had put it on, albeit grudgingly.

Gently, Stiles pries away Derek’s hand from the wound on his side and he almost gags at the sight of so much blood welling up from the gash. Stiles tries thinking on his feet because he doesn’t seem to have much time here, remembering Derek muttering about ‘the things he cannot get out’. Before his own stomach can be too repulsed by the thought, he pushes his fingers deep into the wound, fumbling his way around until he can feel several round, hard things. Mistletoe berries. “Bingo,” he whispers, face now pressed against Derek’s arm so he can grab the berries and pull them out of Derek’s body, one by one, without breaking them.

He tries to ignore the fact that he’s currently out in a snow storm, kneeling beside his own car and digging around in Derek Hale’s body. “You always wanted to be Batman, Stiles. Be Batman and save the day.” At least he’s good at giving himself pep talks.

When he can’t feel any more mistletoe berries in the wound, he reaches for an old hoodie keeps on the back seat as a spare. “Might be a little unsanitary, but it’ll have to do. Sorry.” Derek probably doesn’t mind either way, considering Stiles had just probed around in his body with just his fingers. He still doesn’t move or react, but when Stiles gets back into the driver’s seat, he imagines Derek doesn’t look as deadly pale anymore.

 

Deaton sends him home about an hour later. “You did good, Stiles. If the mistletoe had stayed inside the wound I couldn’t have reversed the poisoning. Derek needs to rest now, for several hours, but he’ll be fine.”

It’s more of a relief than Stiles has expected. Walking back to his Jeep in the parking lot, he has to side step wide patches of ice and snow and some of them have drops of Derek’s blood on them. Stiles really hates the snow.

 

5).

Stiles is nineteen and running through the woods like his life depends on it. Actually his life _does_ depend on it, since he’s running to get away from those pesky little snow sprites. The fucking things are fast.

 

The pack’s plan to split up and run into different directions to confuse and distract them, so Derek and Boyd could throw herb filled hex bags that would make the snow sprites melt on the spot is going well. Until Stiles trips over a root and falls flat on his face. He can feel the pin prickle of tiny ice cold hands wandering all over his back and there’s Derek’s oddly panicky sounding voice shouting his name.

“Stiles!”

Then everything goes black.

 

Stiles wakes up still laying on the ground and with Derek’s incredibly lame worried face hovering over him. He doesn’t know how long exactly he has been out, but he groans, his limbs a little stiff as he slowly sits up.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?” Derek is clasping the side of Stiles’ face gently, the warmth seeping into his skin so nicely Stiles can’t resist leaning into it.

“Yeah, I just—“ he begins, but Derek is quick to interrupt him.

“What? What is it?” The frown deepens and Stiles has to reach out and smooth a finger between Derek’s eyebrows, making him go cross-eyed to follow the movement.

“Nothing,” he explains. “I just really hate snow.”

Derek laughs and rests his forehead against Stiles’. “Idiot,” he murmurs, but Stiles thinks it sounds suspiciously fond.

 

\+ 1).

Stiles is twenty-three and holding Derek’s hand while they take an unhurried walk through the snowy preserve right behind the remodeled Hale house.

He has just finished unpacking the last of his boxes, finally moving in with Derek now that he has a college degree in his bag and decided he wants to stay in Beacon Hills for good. They have been dating for over three years now and like every other couple, there have been ups and downs: Stiles away for his education, Derek still healing from his past and a new supernatural shit storm every few months until they had managed to take the Nemeton down once and for all.

But there have also been surprise visits from Derek at Berkeley, phenomenal sex, the will to go toe to toe, an unwavering mutual respect for each other and the eventual realization of love and wanting to spend the rest of their lives together. Not in an let’s get married immediately and have tons of babies kind of way – Stiles is twenty-three for fuck’s sake – but in the sense that they were now so secure in both their lives and their relationship that neither wanted to be anywhere else. Sometimes Stiles can still not believe how his life has lead him here, and if someone had told him he’d end up with Derek Hale of all people he probably would’ve laughed his ass off.

“You’re quiet today,” Derek interrupts Stiles’ musings while helping him climb over a snow covered stump.

Stiles grins as he lets himself fall against Derek’s chest a little more forcefully than necessary. “Shouldn’t you be happy about that?”

Expectedly, Derek rolls his eyes but pulls Stiles close anyway. He leans in to kiss him so slowly, Stiles ends up flushed and panting a little, his brain already taking him back to their home. They would sip hot chocolate to warm up and cuddle underneath a blanket, which would probably lead to naked and sweaty sex on the comfy new couch Stiles made Derek buy. He kind of can’t wait to get back to the house.

”I don’t _hate_ it when you talk, by the way.” There’s a smirk in Derek’s voice and Stiles bumps his shoulder good-naturedly before taking his hand again to pull him along the path a little further into the woods.

“Shut up and let me enjoy winter wonderland for a few a more minutes. We can discuss this at home.”

Derek snorts, but follows suit as Stiles walks on. The ice crystals make crunchy noises underneath their boots, the air is clean and crisp and they are happy.

 

Maybe, with Derek by his side, the snow isn’t too bad.

 

FIN.


End file.
